


Iron Maiden

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016) Whump, Gen, Hurt Angus Macgyver (Macgyver 2016), Hurt Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016) Whump, Medieval Torture, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23983591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Jack and Mac have a discussion on medieval media while they undergo their own medieval situation.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	Iron Maiden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArthursKnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthursKnight/gifts).



> for Frankie, who asked for some Mac and Jack whump from me like...months ago lol

“A little bit...medieval, isn’t it? Feels like we’re Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings, or something.”

“I think you’re getting it confused, Lord of the Rings was more...Middle _Earth_ than _medieval,_ Jack. Besides, not like we ever saw Frodo and Sam in spreader bars. Game of Thrones, on the other hand, yeah...this feels like that.”

Jack shifts uncomfortably on the wooden stool splintering into his cheeks, trying again in futile effort to release himself from the trap that bound his ankles and wrists together. His reward is a pop in his back that shoots a snake of pain slithering through his curved spine. He turns his head, resting his chin against the crook of his shoulder and watches as the color continues to drain from Mac’s face.

“Not really spreader bars, isn’t that where your hands are actually you know, _spread apart,_ with your head sticking between. Getting tomatoes and stones thrown at you by the peasants...”

“Oh, well, forgive me, I don’t really know what else to call... _this,”_ Mac mutters, he tries to jerk his hands out of the tight shackles around his wrists, his feet wriggle loosely out of the two sockets drilled into the two halves of wood joined together by a latch that’s _just_ out of reach on Mac’s side of the bench-length torture device. “Does it really matter anyway?”

“We gotta have _something_ on our death certificates.”

“We’re not gonna _die_ from this,” Mac sighs. 

“Speak for yourself, my spine’s starting to give out on me, here. Body’s starting to shut down...”

“Jack, don’t-don’t say that!”

Jack sputters sharply, masking what is really a call for Mac to meet his eyes with a loud, exaggerated groan in pain.

“Yeah, I think this is the end, Mac! I think this is doing me in. They got me. They win!” Jack speaks loudly, with a soft wink to Mac. “The light...it’s coming closer...I can see it!”

“Oh, Jack, no! Hey! Guards! You got to do something!” Mac nods at Jack, understanding the plan, he starts to cause a commotion while Jack starts to act like he’s dying.

The door to their prison is thrust open behind them, the sudden noise causes both bodies to jerk, and Mac can’t hold back a whimper as his spine bends further, a sharp pain stirring the fluid between his sore bones. The stool beneath him wobbles, he worries that it’s going to finally give way...

“Open the stockade,” a loud voice barks between Mac and Jack, and in his periphery, Mac can see a figure approach the latch of the stockade bench.

“Oh! Stockade. That’s what it’s called!” Jack wheezes. 

“Looks like the possum isn’t dead after all, just... _sleeping.”_

“Alright, jig is up, ya caught me. I just...man, is this your first time torturing someone? You gotta change it up or else your subjects are gonna get BOOOOOORED!” Jack roars, and while Mac knows this is just an act, he still can’t help but mask the pleading on his face for Jack to stop egging on their tormentors to dial up the pain even more.

“Silence! Lest those words be your _last_.”

“Oh, nah, bro, I already got an idea of what my dyin’ words are gonna be, trust me, you’ll know ‘em when you hear them.”

Jack is caught off guard as the stool that was holding up his body is kicked away, he screams as his body is drooped down, now dangling almost upside down like a sloth hanging on to a tree branch. All blood rushes to his head, which swells and almost explodes in a crimson fury before the bottom half of the stockade is released, and Mac and Jack’s legs fall to the ground. 

“Release him.”

Jack feels the shackles around his wrists released as he pants in recovery, but before he can act he’s grabbed from behind. He tries to loosen his body, kicking and flailing his arms despite the nagging numbness that tells him his limbs are not _actually_ moving. 

“What’s the matter, thought you were _bored?”_ the torturer teases as Jack is carried towards a metal tomb in the corner of the room.

“Oh, don’t tell me, this is an _iron maiden,_ isn’t it? Lucky for you, I am the karaoke _champ in four states,_ and while I’m sure the blonde one over there would disagree--”

Jack’s voice hitches in a high squeal as the door is opened to reveal the inner lining of nails that line the vertical cage, but he clears his throat as he is carelessly pushed inside in a growl before the door is slammed on him, sealing him in.

“Go ready the stretcher for the twig,” the head man orders his henchman, who exits the room.

“--but just so you know, I am one of the _best_ singers of Iron Maiden,” Jack continues, his voice now a muffled shout as he begins to sign loudly, off-key, _“You'll take my life but I'll take yours too...You'll fire your musket but I'll run you through...”_

Meanwhile, Mac, still uncomfortably positioned on the stool with his hands shackled to the slab of wood in front of him, as quietly as he can--through the slit of the iron tomb, Jack is able to notice what he’s doing and raise his voice even higher to mask the gentle scream--dislocates his thumb and slides it through, quickly undoing the other shackle with his remaining four fingers, though it takes a bit of time--

“ _So when you're waiting for the next attack...you'd better stand there's no turning back_ \--Man, standing while singing this song is quite approprose, ain’t it?”

 _I think you trying to say apropos,_ Mac has to keep to himself through the silent tears as he scans the room for something he can use for a quick take down, his escape still unbeknownst to the distracted man in front of Jack.

“Sing all you want, little canary. Just be careful you don’t rock yourself into those spikes.”

“Funny, could give you the same warning!” Jack shouts, as Mac whacks the man with a maul, sending him careening to the ground. Mac drops the weapon to his other side before 

“Oh, god, Jack!” Mac calls out as Jack falls on top of him, groaning loudly as Mac feels the blood oozing out of the dotted perforations of his clothing and bare skin of his arms. 

“It’s okay, hoss, looks worse than it feels,” Jack winces in a dry chuckle. “And hey, I can knock another entry off the bucket list, singing Iron Maiden _inside_ of an iron maiden...”

“You are unbelievable,” Mac laughs as he shakes his head, and they exit the torture chamber to freedom carrying their sore bodies with their arms slung around each other. 

“Wait, what should we do about Slender Man?” Jack whispers as they pass by the room that Mac had almost been carried away to, watching as the unaware man hums the same Iron Maiden song Jack was singing while he “prepares” the stretching board. 

“Eh, just lock him in. No need to go _that_ medieval on their asses,” Mac shrugs, as he pulls the door closed, locking the man in the room. 

“Pulp Fiction, nice,” Jack beams with pride. “We should watch that when we get back from Medical.”

“You mean when _you_ get back from Medical.”

“I think that big gash on your hand from handling that maul would say otherwise.”

“Just a flesh wound.”

“Now _that_ movie was definitely medieval!” 


End file.
